


Ghosts in the Cellar, They Come and They Go as They Want To

by Zdenka



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst and Humor, Creepy, Extra Treat, Gen, Ghosts, Haunted Houses, unlikely friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 12:19:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5127362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zdenka/pseuds/Zdenka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bitter ghost meets a lonely abandoned house--and discovers an unexpected hope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghosts in the Cellar, They Come and They Go as They Want To

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sonotadream](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonotadream/gifts).



> Title from a line in the song "Old Coats" by Barnaby Bright.

I. The Ghost

Does it matter how this curse came upon me? They would tell you one story in the land where I was born; my sister, who lies peacefully now in her grave, would tell you another; and I would tell you yet a third, if I cared to. All those who know the truth are dead.

All? Aye, all, I said, and I meant all. I am among the unquiet dead, doomed to lead a whirling, wandering existence. For that is my curse: that I may never spend more than a single night in an abode of the living. The wind chills me and the rain wets me, the sun burns me and grief frets me, but never, never may I stay.

I linger in tombs sometimes, or in stables, when I can find no better shelter. But the cold dry dust is a poor companion, and tame beasts cannot abide the presence of a ghost. They can see me – or perhaps smell me, I know not—and it makes them uneasy. I would not rob harmless dumb creatures of their rest, as I have been robbed of mine, and so there too I seldom stay longer than a single night.

What, is it cockcrow already? Be silent, you feathered braggart! I am going, I am going! No need to drive me forth.

  


II. The House

There is something ominous, they say, about a house where murder has been done. I wouldn’t know. It’s not as if I can go out and meet other houses. I would like to be a good house, a proper house, if only I knew how. But something has gone wrong in me, and I don’t know how to set it right. There has been too much sorrow within my walls. No one will stay here now. I suppose I can’t blame them. The shrieks in the night (at 11:06 p.m. exactly, every night), the water that runs in the bathtub even when the water has been turned off and the pipes are half rusted away (once they even tried removing the bathtub, but it didn’t help), and the blood that drips from the walls . . . I can’t help it!

I try keeping my lights on invitingly (yes, they’ve cut off the electricity – I don’t see what difference that makes) in the hope of attracting someone—anyone—to take shelter here. An un-lived-in house gets lonely. But it’s no use. Even the most desperate for a roof over their heads, even the most intrepid youngster dared on by friends—they never stay for more than a night.

  


III. The House, Haunted

It was a wet, blustery evening in autumn when a young woman whirled in through the front door. Quite literally; she didn’t give me time to open it. She rushed in through the wood and peeling paint as if it weren’t there. Interested, I peered at her. (I don’t have eyes, of course, but I can tell what goes on within my walls, as any self-respecting house can. Even a murder house.)

She was wearing an old-fashioned dress and shawl, both tattered and dripping wet. The drops of water struck my floors with a ‘plunk’ and promptly disappeared. Well, that was convenient. I hate it when people drip on my floors.

She sighed, rolled back her shoulders, and proceeded to wring out her hair. I obligingly turned on the heat; the old radiators rattle and clank, but they get the job done. She extended her hands toward the hall radiator. “Oh, lovely warmth. I wonder who lives here?”

I didn’t answer. Not everyone likes to be spoken to by a house. They seem to find it unnerving. And I don’t _want_ to frighten them, I really don’t!

The next thing I knew, she had draped herself over the radiator, like a wet raincoat spread to dry. There was an ominous hissing noise, and a large cloud of steam rose up. That was slightly alarming, but I supposed she would know whether it could hurt her or not.

She stayed like that for maybe half an hour without moving, only steaming slightly. Then she got up, shook herself, and proceeded to wander through the house. I turned on the lights for her in each room as she approached. I would have opened the doors too, but I was too slow with the first one and she just walked through it.

“What, no one home?” she muttered to herself. “Then I may have my choice of rooms.” She drifted into the master bedroom and flung herself down on the ample bed. She seemed to be making herself at home. I wondered if I should warn her about the shrieking. It was still only half past seven, so I had time to decide.

To my surprise, she sank down through the covers, which then rose up to form a mound over her. She settled herself more comfortably on the pillow and closed her eyes. I rattled my windows a little, but she took no notice. I had so been hoping for some company!

“You don’t really sleep,” I said before I could stop myself, “do you?”

She hastily raised her head. “Who is it?”

“It’s me,” I said. “The house.”

She gave the farther wall a skeptical look. “A house that speaks?”

“You’re a ghost,” I said sulkily. “I don’t see that you have any room to talk.”

“Indeed I am,” she agreed. “But I will not trouble you long. I must be gone from here early.”

“Must you really?” I said in disappointment.

“At cockcrow.”

“I don’t have any chickens,” I felt compelled to point out. “Ones that crow or otherwise.”

She sighed impatiently. “That is no matter. I know when I must depart. I always know.”

“Oh,” I said. “Well. It’s only fair to warn you that there will be shrieking, at 11:06 precisely, and there may be blood dripping from the walls – not a lot! I’m not that sort of house, and I’ve always thought that subtlety is more effective than floods of gore—” But she had closed her eyes again, apparently asleep. I settled myself a little, with some creaking of my floorboards, and prepared to wait until morning. Even sleeping company, even a ghost, was surely better than no company at all.

The shrieking came at the usual time. She only muttered, “Be quiet, fell fiends,” and went back to sleep again.

The night passed, and it gradually grew lighter. As a city house, I’ve never really been an expert on roosters. Do they crow at dawn? Before dawn? I wasn’t quite sure. But it was well past dawn when my guest finally stirred.

She blinked and yawned just like any living person would—at least, I thought I remembered how living people would do things. It had been so long. Then suddenly her eyes flew open and she sat bolt upright.

“What is this?” she exclaimed. “It is full daylight! How can this be?”

I remained silent. I didn’t think she wanted an explanation of astronomical phenomena, and I don’t have the clearest understanding of them in any event. It’s rather out of my sphere.

She stared at her hands. I thought the way the sunlight shone through them was rather pretty. “But I am cursed,” she said. “I may not stay more than a single night in any abode of the living!”

“Oh,” I said. “Well. As to that. This isn’t really an abode of anyone, at present.”

She ran her translucent fingers through her tangled hair. “What do you mean?”

“No one lives here,” I said. “No one will. They think it’s haunted.”

It was wonderful, the way her face lit up. “No one dwells beneath this roof? It belongs to none?”

“To none,” I confirmed. “I suppose technically it belongs to the heirs of the family that last lived here, but the will was disputed, and—”

“Then I may stay?”

My curtains fluttered hopefully. “Yes,” I said. “Oh, yes. I would like that very much.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: "Ghost and Sentient Haunted Building become friends."


End file.
